


guns and roses

by dvntldr



Series: DC Legends of Tomorrow Prompts [3]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Bisexual Sara Lance, Clara Oswald easter egg, F/M, Flirty Sara Lance, Language of Flowers, Rip Hunter is so Done, Rip Hunter-centric, RipFic, Sara Lance Needs a Hug, because why not, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:20:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22065394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvntldr/pseuds/dvntldr
Summary: “How do I passive-aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in flower?”
Relationships: (past), Miranda Coburn/Rip Hunter, Rip Hunter/Sara Lance
Series: DC Legends of Tomorrow Prompts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1588114
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	guns and roses

It’s a slow day today. Rain pelts the sidewalk in sharp, incessant staccato beats, as if God himself has come down from the heavens to exact heavenly justice with another flood. The few people that are still out and about are mostly clustered in hordes in the quaint, tidy teashop next door, or the conveniently-sheltered taxi stand a little bit away. 

For his part, Rip simply scrolls through his phone lazily, reading through the most recent texts in the groupchat one of his mates had added him to. He doesn’t text often since he’s rarely in the mood to put up with their special brand of tomfoolery, but he checks in every once in a while—there’s several physics-related puns and unfamiliar memes, but besides a few messages from John asking if anyone wanted to head to his place for drinks, there’s not much of interest. There’s movement in the doorway and he glances up, but it’s just Wally, ducking in to grab his coat with a sheepish look. 

“Hey, Rip. Sorry, I realised I left my coat here—got to run, my friends are downstairs waiting. You need anything?” Rip softens at the concern in the other male’s eyes, simply waving his hand dismissively. 

“Not at all. Go on, get out—you deserve the day off.” Wally gifts him with a warm smile before offering a cheerful goodbye and running off—Rip’s fond gaze stays on the open doorway for a moment after the younger male leaves. He’s always had a soft spot for the teen ever since he’d helped Rip out with a problem of his a couple of years ago, and Wally’s always been a dedicated and hard worker, so when he’d needed a place to work to earn a bit of cash Rip hadn’t hesitated to offer him regular shifts. 

Another few hours pass sluggishly and the vicious downpour slowly lets up, though the sky remains thickly clouded and an ominous slate-grey. Slowly but surely, a steady stream of customers begin to trickle in now that the weather’s a little kinder—a few of them are regulars and Rip makes comfortable small-talk with a sweet young lady named Clara who never fails to turn up at least twice a week to buy pink-tipped tulips for her cancer-ridden grandmother while sorting transactions out. She usually keeps him company for a few hours, something he greatly appreciates considering that she provides intelligent conversation and the days can get quite long without someone to talk to. 

They’re chatting lightly over steaming mugs of Earl Grey tea when someone storms into the shop, muttering something furiously under their breath—Clara jumps at the unexpected intrusion and he narrows his eyes, glaring irritably at the patron who’d so rudely interrupted their conversation, but the pretty blonde doesn’t seem to heed his subtle warning, simply striding up to them and slamming her palms onto the table none-too-gently.

“How do I passive-aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in flower?” 

Clara snorts dryly at the customer’s unexpected sentence, tucking a dark lock of hair behind her ear as she stands and draws Rip into a tight hug. He’d had to get used to that over a long period of time, since Clara tended to get quite enthusiastic about her hugs, but by now he’s used to it and simply accepts the embrace, even leaning into it. “And _that’s_ certainly my cue to leave. Take care of yourself, Rip, I’ll be back same time as always.” 

“You always are,” he smirks as she grins brightly back at him and leaves, leaving a sweet floral scent in her wake. He turns his assessing gaze back on the woman, who’s pulling out a thick wad of cash from her wallet. She certainly looks intimidating enough in her black sleeved top, camouflage pants and combat boots with steel toes, but he’s dealt with people like her before. All muscle and no brains. “I’m sorry, but where I come from it’s only polite to start a conversation with hello, for starters.”

“Hello. How do I nonverbally flip people off using flora?” She snarkily deadpans right back, wintry-blue eyes fixed on him with a hawk-like gaze—he sighs inwardly, but complies anyways. The faster she gets out of his shop, the faster he can have some peace and quiet. 

“What kind of budget are you working with?”

She waves the stack of notes indicatively, but not maganimously. “I’ve got more than enough. A bouquet, I guess—it just has to mean—“

“ _Fuck off_ , yes, I gathered.” She chuckles at that, the sound surprisingly nice to listen to; it’s low and throaty, but rather honest, a quality that is unfortunately lacking nowadays. Standing, he moves around her to examine the wide array of flowers, pointing at each one as he mentions its name. “Right, you’ll be wanting geraniums, meadowsweet—yellow carnations and foxglove, maybe...and orange lilies. At least one of each, but more if you want—there is a limit to one bouquet, though.”

“What do they mean?” She asks curiously, coming to stand next to him and tilting her head so she can read the neat labels—the warmth coming off her makes Rip shiver a little bit at the proximity and step back, creating a little distance between them.

“Geraniums mean stupidity. Meadowsweet is uselessness, the carnations mean that the receiver has disappointed you, foxglove represents insincerity and orange lilies are quite simply hatred. Those are the main ones, although there are a few that are subtler—but I don’t reckon you’re the subtle type.” 

She gives him a sideways, deadpan look, but nods, fingers fluttering over the petals gingerly, as if she’s afraid to touch something so fragile in fear of ruining it. Rip can vaguely relate to that sentiment, sometimes—it’s hard to connect with others even on his better days. Miranda always was the social butterfly of the two of them, after all. “Yeah, all of those, please. Just one of each, I’m not gonna spend more on _her_.” 

“Is this some sort of sisterly feud?” He questions, raising an eyebrow curiously—she laughs in response, shaking her head. 

“Nah, my ex dumped me last week. Said her job was more important and that ‘I was getting in the way of it’,” she air-quotes, a churlish expression sliding onto her face. He blinks at the answer, his hands moving smoothly without being prompted—he still remembers when Miranda had taught him how to make a bouquet, her small hands overlapping his as she guided him carefully in the art. She’d be so proud to know that her shop hadn’t crashed and burnt under his less-experienced eye. “Though you’re doing better than me, huh? Marriage and all that—hell, I’d have hit up that beauty if you hadn’t gotten to her first.”

His lips twitch upwards at the irony of the situation, but just shakes his head and, with a final twist to the wrapping paper, sets the finished bouquet down, twisting his wedding ring as he does so. It’s a nervous tic of his that he’s never really gotten rid of, not that he minded all that much. It’s simultaneously comforting and painful to feel the weight of the ring on his finger. “Widowed, actually, but it wasn’t a bad guess. She’s just one of my regulars.” He smiles tightly at her, noting the immediate panic that blooms on her face. So she isn’t the insensitive type after all—who knew?

There’s silence for a few moments as he finishes tucking the foxglove into the bouquet and heads back to the till, calculating the amount owed. She doesn’t look as if she knows what to say, and he doesn’t mind that at all—it’s better than the stammering people that come up to him and sputter condolences about his _tragic loss._ “It’s—“

“Just take the damn cash already,” she interrupts suddenly, shoving the whole wad into his face—Rip stares at her, wide-eyed and confused. Nobody’s ever offered him _money_ as, what, _compensation?_ For his wife’s death, and that’s a good thing because he’s half-sure he would’ve decked them the first chance he got. Even now, he’s sorely tempted to shout at her to leave, but she’s studying him with an intensity he can only flush and clench his fists at. She really _is_ quite beautiful, especially when she isn’t raging and scaring away his friends. Still, he can’t help but feel offended by it and stands to shoo her out of his shop when she raises a halting hand to stop him. 

“Look, this isn’t pity money. Just—“ She huffs out annoyedly, looking somewhat put out as she folds her arms. “I lost my sister, okay? A year ago. And I get it, I do. I still wear her—“ she touches her throat, feeling for something before pulling out a delicate silver chain, a small golden bird charm on the end of it, wings spread in flight. “—necklace. She gave it to me and it’s kind of all I have left, since my parents keep her clothes and stuff at theirs and I don’t really go over there anymore. Too many memories, y’know?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” he breathes out slowly, hands clenching the tabletop in a white-knuckled grip. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that he isn’t shaking too badly, although fine tremors shudder up his arms that he forces to his sides so she doesn’t notice. “Yes, I do know. Still, I don’t want your _money_. How would you feel if I offered you cash to make up for _your_ loss of a loved one.”

“I’d take it and head on down to the pub to get blackout drunk, to be honest.” She looks him over carefully for another moment before smiling a little nervously at him, shifting her weight onto the balls of her feet. “I _was_ gonna ask you for your number, but that’d be kind of shitty of me to do right now, huh?”

Rip thinks it over for a few seconds before shaking his head, surprising himself with his own reaction as he reaches for one of the bright sunflower Post-Its Raymond had gotten for him as a joke and scribbling his number down in Sharpie. He offers it to her and she takes it after a moment, albeit with a shocked look. “I think that’s fine, Ms…?”

“Lance.” She grins dazzlingly, apparently enthusiastic about the turn of events as she stares at the numbers on the sticky note, seemingly trying to memorise it, before reaching for the marker and grabbing his hand to scrawl her number in untidy script on his palm, with an added winky face at the end. “Sara Lance.”

“Rip Hunter,” he replies in kind, pulling his hand back once she’s down, and watches with distinct amusement as she narrows her eyes at him, squinting suspiciously as if she’s trying to make out something on his face. 

“That is _not_ your real name.” When he shrugs nonchalantly and turns away to wrap up her bouquet, she stomps her foot a little childishly, scowling lightly at him. “That _cannot_ be your real name! Who names their kid _Rip_?” 

“My mother, apparently.” He says, unable to stop an answering grin from spreading over his face at Sara’s sulky expression. The blonde counts out the exact amount and tosses in an extra ten-dollar bill, smirking at him playfully as she does so. 

“Your mother must’ve been quite the woman, then. Also, don’t see that as charity, see it as a tip. It’s not often I meet someone so willing to put up with my moods.” He hesitates for a second before nodding reluctantly and accepting it. Rip can tell that she won’t let the matter go until he gives in, and rent _has_ been a little tight lately. “I’ll give you a call sometime soon, okay? To next time and all that.” 

“Looking forward to it, Ms. Lance,” he waves her out of his shop, feeling the tightly-wound pressure in his chest loosen slightly as she flashes him a bright, brilliant parting smile. Apparently he should take back everything he’d ever said about his being bad at making friends, seeing as he’s somehow exchanged numbers with the headstrong woman who’d bought a bloody _bouquet_ of hate-flowers for her ex. 

Still, it’s been a considerably long time since he’s allowed himself to take interest in anyone; for one, he’d felt like it would be betraying Miranda, and for another, he simply hadn’t felt that he was up to tackling the challenge of a love life. John had done his best to encourage Rip to go out and find someone, but that notion had fallen flat considering that his brother-in-law was single himself. Despite all that, he finds himself liking Sara, and he doesn’t know if that’s a testament to the woman herself or if it’s just his loneliness taking advantage of the situation. Can he really take this step, after so long of hiding away from the rest of the world? 

He glances at the messy cursive on his palm, and feels his cheeks grow hot at the winky face at the end. 

Well, it’s worth a shot. 

**Author's Note:**

> mainly wrote this because i thought rip as a florist would be super cute slfjsk  
> also, having a guy named rip as your main character sucks because everytime i want to say rest in peace in the end notes i can’t just put ‘rip’
> 
> feel free to ignore my rambling lmao ^ also, the title is super boring because i couldn’t think of anything better :// sorry lol
> 
> hope y’all like whatever the hell this is!!


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